46. Garrett
CHAPTER 46
Garrett
It was hard to believe what I was seeing.
Our forensics team had searched Phillip Lancaster’s residence. They’d combed every inch of his house and property and, in the end, brought back numerous boxes filled with potential evidence.
There was a lot that was going to help investigators track down his additional victims. Maps, hunting and fishing guides, local souvenirs. He had a pin collection that we all hoped didn’t indicate the number of women he’d killed. There were dozens.
But the real story was in a stack of unsent letters.
Phillip had been writing to someone named Al Bisbee for years. Since before he’d killed Jasmine Joyner.
It turned out, Bisbee was in prison in California. He’d been convicted of several murders of young women. The last one had been about a year before Phillip had killed Jasmine. Then Bisbee had been caught by authorities.
And apparently, Phillip’s fascination had been born.
His early letters read like fan mail. It made my stomach turn. As they moved on, they provided details of his murders. Like a protégé boasting to a mentor .
It was fucking weird. He’d clearly known he’d never be able to send them. Prisoners’ mail wasn’t private and Bisbee was never getting out. Yet, he’d kept writing to this guy, bragging about his murders and how he was never going to get caught.
When I got to the letters about me, I had to sit down.
Jack had warned me. Told me I didn’t need to read them—that maybe I shouldn’t.
In a way, it was helpful. It showed me I hadn’t been losing my mind. He’d recorded everything he did, step by step. In fact, he’d documented much more than any of his previous crimes.
It was as if he’d been building this up in his mind to the point that he considered it his masterpiece. Killing me and Harper and framing it as a murder-suicide was clearly the most elaborate crime he’d ever attempted. And he’d fantasized about it to a shocking degree.
There weren’t just the letters. He’d sketched it out—literally. He wasn’t exactly a skilled artist, but he wasn’t terrible. And the pictures he’d drawn were harrowing.
Let’s just say they depicted what he’d planned, complete with law enforcement discovering the grisly scene.
I’d never wanted to take the life of another person in the line of duty. But this guy? I had no regrets. The world was a better—and safer—place without him in it.
And he really had been behind it all. Or at least, most of it. He’d paid people to file the complaints, although the one from Matt Rudolph had just been bad timing. He’d never actually filed his and had apologized later. I’d told him no hard feelings.
Phillip had tampered with evidence and with my reports and recommended against prosecuting Trent Jones. Just another way to make me look bad—cast doubt in the minds of my superiors.
He’d also written about his break-in at Harper’s house. How he’d decided to reenact the events of his first murder to make me believe she was his intended victim. He’d wanted me scared, panicked that someone was after her. And he’d watched it all from afar, gloating the entire time.
It was no surprise to read that he’d been behind the incident at Rich Pine’s. Nor that Rich had no idea someone would use an old freezer in one of his outbuildings to hold a victim hostage. Phillip had simply seen an opportunity—Rich was often out of town and his property was fairly isolated.
I’d been right about Jasmine and the root cellar. He had killed her there. According to his letters, he’d originally planned to kill me there, but changed his mind when he decided to kill Harper too. He’d wanted more space, and a place he thought would hold me while he enacted the rest of his sick plan.
Reading his words was as vindicating as it was disturbing. And the rest of his letters would help the FBI in their investigations of his other crimes.
But really, I was just glad the ordeal was over. I was ready to move on.
I left the evidence and walked away from it, literally and symbolically leaving Phillip Lancaster and all his evil behind.
Besides, I still had a job to do. The people of our town still counted on me and my entire agency to ensure their safety.
I went back to my desk and found a white envelope with my name handwritten on the outside. That was odd. No stamp, so someone must have dropped it off. Inside was a short letter in the same handwriting. My brow furrowed as I read it.
Deputy Haven ,
I just wanted you to know, I get it. It wasn’t personal. You were just doing your job.
I checked in to treatment. My girlfriend is having a baby and I don’t want my kid growing up like I did.
Thanks for not breaking my nose or something last time you arrested me.
Trent Jones
I stared at the letter for a long moment. It was short, but profound. I really hoped Trent completed his treatment program and started getting his life together. Despite our history, I’d be the first one to cheer him on. And not just for his sake. For his child.
Looked like impending fatherhood was doing a lot of good for Trent. That made me smile.
My first day back on the job wound up being pleasantly normal. I’d assisted on a squirrel call—they were getting into the Timberbeast again—had a good informal chat with some members of the SPS, and literally helped a little old lady cross a street.
Life wasn’t always simpler in a small town, but I’d never take it for granted when it was.
I went home and found Owen on the couch—mostly his knees sticking up. He was wearing headphones and, by the look of it, playing a game on his phone. Hesitating in the hallway, I watched him for a moment. I loved that kid so much.
Not for the first time, I wondered if I had it in me to be a father to another child. Could I love the tiny one with this same intensity? With my whole heart ?
Time would tell. But if loving Harper had taught me anything, it was that I tended to underestimate love. Before her, I wouldn’t have thought I had it in me to love a woman as much as I loved Harper.
But love had smacked me upside the head. And thank goodness it had. So maybe I didn’t need to worry that my heart wouldn’t be big enough for another child. It always made room.
Seemed like love wanted to grow.
Owen looked up and noticed me. He pulled off his headphones and sat up straighter. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, bud.”
“Done with work?”
“Yeah. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” I sat on the other side of the couch.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Should you be?”
He tried to hide a grin. “No. I don’t think so. No shoplifting at least.”
That wasn’t what I’d meant to bring up, but since he had. “Can we talk about that?”
“I did my time, Dad. It’s over.”
“I know, I don’t mean punishment. Why did you do it?”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “I wanted cookies?”
“C’mon. Why did you really do it?”
His brow furrowed and he glanced away. “It’s stupid.”
“Son, you can tell me.”
“I was mad.”
“At who?”
“I don’t even know. At Mom, I guess. And kind of at you.”
“Mad at me because Mom didn’t stay?”
“Yeah. I know it isn’t your fault. I’m not a grown-up, but I get that adults make their own choices and have to take responsibility for them. ”
“It’s a big deal that you understand that. I guess I haven’t completely failed.”
He grinned again. “You’re actually a really good dad. I have some friends who aren’t as lucky as I am.”
That hit me square in the chest. “Thanks. I’ve done my best.”
“Let’s be honest. I’m pretty awesome, so you can take some of the credit.”
I nudged his leg. “You are awesome. But don’t go too Uncle Z on me.”
“Why not? He’s awesome too. Maybe I get some of my awesomeness from him.”
“Let’s just say it runs in the family and call it good.”
“Fair.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you still mad?”
“At Mom? A little bit, yeah. I just don’t get it. But I also think things are better without her. She wasn’t good at being a mom, even when she was here. It’s less confusing this way.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Except you picked her, so that part is. But if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t exist, so I can’t be too upset about it.”
I nodded in acknowledgment. “I’ll never regret it, because I got you.”
“And you redeemed yourself with Harper, so you have that.”
A broad smile crept over my face. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“About Harper? She’s okay, right?”
I hated that my son had to bear the burden of trauma. He was handling it well, especially with help from his therapist. But still. As a father, I wanted to protect him—from everything. Even though I knew I couldn’t. I patted his knee. “She’s fine. I have something that I want to ask her, but it impacts you too, so I didn’t want to do it before I talked to you.”
He sat up straighter, his eyes widening with excitement. “Are you gonna marry her?”
“I’d like to ask her.”
His head dropped back against the cushion. “Finally. Geez Dad, it took you long enough.”
“Long enough? Our relationship has moved alarmingly fast.”
“Whatever. You love her and she loves you. And you’re having a baby together. It’s not like you don’t know you’re going to get married. Just do it, already.”
“I take it you don’t have any concerns about this.”
“My only concern is you waiting too long, and she starts to think you’re never going to ask, and then there’s a pointless miscommunication that leads to drama. No one needs that.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Where do you get this stuff?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. So how are you going to propose? Do you have a ring? Can I be in the wedding? Do I get to wear a suit?”
“I don’t know. I picked it out but haven’t picked it up yet. Yes, of course you can. And absolutely you’ll wear a suit.”
“Okay, but you should let me help you propose. You’re not going to do it right on your own.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your plan?”
I hesitated. “I thought I’d take her out to dinner.”
Groaning, he rolled his eyes. “Boring.”
“What’s boring about that? I was going to take her to the restaurant where we had our first date. That’s romantic.”
“It’s okay. But c’mon, Dad, we’re Havens. We can do better. Uncle Josiah remodeled a house for Audrey. And Uncle Z threw Mari a costume ball. We have big shoes to fill.”
“We? ”
“I’m in on this too, Mr. Single Dad. You’re stuck with me. So is Harper, but if she says no, it’s definitely you, not me.”
I laughed again—harder this time. “You’re killin’ me, kid. So what’s your big idea?”
“Okay, hear me out…”